


baby, touch me

by WhoTheBuckIsStucky



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Biting, Choking, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, I think w certain people ((like yuta)) he can get v subby, M/M, Non-Idol Singer Kim Doyoung, One Shot, Pain Kink, Smut, Sub!Doyoung, Tattoo Artist Nakamoto Yuta, again.... me and blood in my smut, also ok when i say face slapping i mean FACE SLAPPING, dom!yuta, eye . it's smut ok it's literally just porn., honestly in my head doyoung is a mean dom but, like yuta backhands him and makes him bleed, so sue me i think yuta bites., so... this.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28626774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoTheBuckIsStucky/pseuds/WhoTheBuckIsStucky
Summary: Request:"can you please make an au of doyu but yuta as the dominant one?"+ a comment from a past survey requesting singer!doyoung x tattoo artist!yutayes the title is taken from miss touch.mp3, which is WHOLLY tonally inappropriate given the fact that this is almost all smut. let me have fun.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 6
Kudos: 159





	baby, touch me

**Author's Note:**

> on the subject of tattoos, can we please get an nct tattoo reveal?? I know they've been busy in that regard... i would like to See...

Doyoung adjusts his sleeves, hurrying down the street with his head down. It’s late, and dark, but he’s gaining notoriety now, and while he normally doesn’t mind stopping and chatting with fans, he doesn’t wish to be seen today. He’s on his way to get a new tattoo.

That’s not the real reason, though it’s the cover story. He _is_ getting a new tattoo—just a cute little design on the inside of his bicep—but the reason he hopes no one recognizes him is actually his tattoo artist. Or, more specifically, the relationship he has with his tattoo artist.

Okay, so maybe Doyoung has a tiny pain kink. And maybe he’s a little addicted to the sensation of a tattoo gun. And maybe, just maybe, his tattoo artist is really hot and a little bit insane. He can’t quite understand how he ended up here, honestly. He got his first tattoo around a year ago and spent the next few weeks tossing and turning over how much he liked it, and how taken he had been with Yuta. Eventually, he worked up the nerve to go again for another one, and try and flirt. It makes him sound like a loser, which he’s fully aware of. 

But Yuta didn’t think he was a loser. Yuta took one somewhat risky remark from Doyoung and ran with it and by the time the tattoo was complete, Doyoung found himself a bit enthralled. Yuta gave him his business card with a wink and told him if he ever wanted another one, to just call and give his name, and they’d be able to work him in whenever he wanted. Even after hours.

And, of course, Doyoung called a month later. It was a baffling phone call, though he’d receive his explanation later.

“Hello?”

“Hi, um, I was hoping to schedule an appointment for a tattoo?” Doyoung worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I usually—I usually see Nakamoto Yuta?”

“Yuta’s a little busy this week,” the girl on the other end said. “Would you be okay waiting? Or perhaps scheduling with someone else?”

“I—he told me, um, he told me I could give my name, and you’d be able to work me in?” He didn’t know why everything was coming out as a question. “It’s Doyoung. Kim Doyoung.”

“One second.” There was a beat of silence, and then: “Oh, yep! What day would be best for you?”

“Ah, Thursday.”

“Okay. He can do nine p.m. if that’s okay?”

“That’s—aren’t you guys closed by then?”

“No,” the girl replied. “Not really.” _Not really? What the fuck does that mean?_ “Should I put you down for Thursday?”

“I—yeah, sure.” Confused and feeling kind of stupid, he just let it happen, though he was a little worried.

There had been no need, though. Yuta was there, alone, when he arrived, in a private room, which he led Doyoung back to while explaining, “We need to appear closed, so I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Doyoung had said, feeling his pulse jump in his neck.

They made small talk while Yuta tattooed him. Doyoung found out that Yuta does piercings as well as tattoos, that he plays rec soccer on his days off and likes to listen to rock music. And then, while Yuta was cleaning him up, he said, “You know, I wasn’t actually booked today. I had a slot in the afternoon. Do you know why I asked you to give your name?”

Doyoung had swallowed and shook his head. “No,” he said.

Yuta leaned in. “Because I wanted you all to myself.” He flashed him a smile before pulling away to discard some trash. “I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

“It wasn’t,” Doyoung had said. “So,” he added, feeling bold. “Now that you have me to yourself, what are you going to do?”

“A lot of things, if you let me,” Yuta replied, and Doyoung felt himself melt.

“How many other people are on your list?” Doyoung asked, and Yuta just smirked.

“You’re in good company,” he said. “So? Are we going to do this?”

“Yes,” Doyoung said without hesitation, though maybe he _should_ have thought about it a little. 

And that was that. Doyoung had been back once more since then, and it had been the same as tonight—late in the evening, after hours. 

Yuta meets him at the door. He’s dyed his hair since they last met—it’s an electrifying red, kept long, his bangs pinned back out of his face with an assortment of bobby pins. He has a simple, loose black tank top on, over skinny jeans and sleek black shoes. His earrings sparkle in the light. What Doyoung’s most interested in, of course, is his assortment of tattoos. His arms are covered; chest too, even where the tank top hides it. Doyoung knows he also has a few on his ribcage, and a few more down his calves. Doyoung follows behind him, raking his eyes over his back, his broad shoulders, the curve of the muscles in his arms. 

“Hi,” Yuta says, grinning cheekily once they’re safe in the back room. “Long time, no see. Been busy?”

“A little,” Doyoung replies. “I like your hair.”

“Yeah?” Yuta touches it fondly, and Doyoung sees chipped black polish on his nails. “Thanks. So do I.” He cocks his head, giving Doyoung a sort of appraising look. “So what are we doing today?”

“I have the drawing here,” Doyoung says, fishing the slip of paper out of his pocket. “On the inside of my left bicep?”

Yuta looks it over, and then nods. “Stick your arm out, then.” He gathers his supplies, still talking. “So how have you been?”

“Good,” Doyoung replies, willing the tremor of anticipation from his voice. “Working on my new album, mostly.”

Yuta smooths over the skin of Doyoung’s bicep, Sharpie in hand. “No, silly. What do you do for fun?” he asks. “Lately?”

“But my work _is_ fun,” Doyoung insists. “Wouldn’t you say the same?”

“Sure,” Yuta says, offering a mirror to help Doyoung see the sketch better. “But it’s still labor. What we do after the work’s complete, for example—” he flashes a look at Doyoung. “That’s fun.” 

“Then I haven’t been having a lot of fun at all lately,” Doyoung replies. “It looks good,” he adds about the sketch.

“Which is why you’re here, then?” The inquisitive look is gone; it’s replaced with a delighted smile. “I’m happy we can be each other’s fun.” Yuta runs the patch of skin over with an alcohol wipe and fits his tattoo gun with a needle and ink. “It’s a bit of a difficult angle,” he says. “It would be easier if I could sit…” He places a hand on Doyoung’s upper thigh. “Here. Hm?”

Doyoung nods, lips pressed together. Yuta sits gently and begins his work. Doyoung sighs, and drops his head back against the chair, watching Yuta through half-lidded eyes. “Then what’s this?” he asks. “Work, or fun?”

“Somehow, with you, I manage to get the two confused,” Yuta replies, eyes never leaving where the needle pierces Doyoung’s skin. “Leisure mixed into labor.” He pauses, reaching for a smaller needle. “But it’s fitting, right? You like your leisure with work involved.”

Doyoung just smiles as the new needle, smaller for detail, fills in the drawing. There’s pain, but it’s pleasant and heady. He remembers asking Yuta last time, if he thought it was strange that he liked it. Yuta had shrugged, shaking his head.

“Plenty of people like it,” he said. “I do. Lots of my other clients do.” His eyes had flickered across Doyoung’s body. “You can let go, you know,” he’d added. “It’s okay for you to admit it turns you on. I’ve already seen that side of you anyway.”

This had left Doyoung flustered; though it had also led to one of the best orgasms he’d had in his life, so he can’t really complain. Today, however, though he tries to get lost in the feeling (he can feel his cock stiffening under the subtle pressure of Yuta’s thigh), he’s preoccupied. Doyoung looks up at Yuta, who’s brow is carefully creased in his concentration. “Do you have a lot of other clients like me?” he asks.

Yuta smirks without looking up. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

Doyoung huffs a little, rolling his eyes. “Like, clients you invite in outside of normal business hours.”

“Clients I fuck, you mean,” Yuta clarifies, and Doyoung feels heat rising to his cheeks. “I have a few. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Doyoung says, forcing himself not to fidget for fear it’ll ruin Yuta’s hard work. “How many is a few?”

“Single-digits.” Yuta turns off the gun and pats Doyoung’s cheek patronizingly, gracefully rising from his lap. “And I get tested frequently. Don’t fret.”

Doyoung doesn’t know how to respond. It’s not that he’s worried about that—he gets tested too; and besides, they use a condom—and it’s not necessarily that he’s jealous, either. He just wonders how many times Yuta has used the same words, pulled the same tricks on someone else. Was there another guy here last night, following the same script, not knowing Yuta planned to recycle it within twenty-four hours? He shifts in the seat, making the plastic covering creak against the leather. He knows the covering was cleaned just for him; how many other people had it been cleaned for in just the last week? It makes him feel a little used.

It’s kind of fair, though. It’s not like Yuta’s ever asked him to disclose anything about his sex life outside of Yuta. Doyoung supposes it’s just because he doesn’t really have a sex life outside of Yuta—too busy is what he likes to tell himself, though he knows realistically that it’s unlikely he’d have anybody else even if he had all the time in the world.

Yuta wraps his new tattoo to protect it, reminding him of the aftercare required, and then snaps his gloves into the nearby trash can. “Now for the fun,” he says, smiling, crossing back to Doyoung and bracing his hands on the armrests of the chair, leaning in to steal a kiss. Doyoung gasps into it, caught a little off guard. “You seem a little tense. Need me to work it out for you?” His fingers trail up Doyoung’s other arm, light and teasing.

Doyoung melts under Yuta’s touch, worries flying out the window. “Please,” he says. It comes out almost a sigh.

“Yeah? Can I mark up your pretty face a little, or do you need it for something soon?” Yuta asks. 

Doyoung loves their little routine—the provision of danger with a safety net of Yuta’s consideration for him underneath. “I don’t,” he says. “I have the week off, so I can always just wear a mask. I want it.”

“Okay,” Yuta replies. He’s stepped away to retrieve a condom and lube; he comes into Doyoung’s space again, gripping his jaw in one of his hands, firm but not painful, and kisses him, guiding Doyoung’s head closer, tipping his chin up until he was almost looming over him. Doyoung feels like Yuta might devour him, but somehow he doesn’t mind.

Yuta seems to know, because he moves down his neck, unbuttoning his shirt and latching on just below his clavicle, teeth nipping and biting at the skin, harsher when Doyoung moans softly. Yuta sucks insistently, dutifully pinching skin between his teeth to coax out the beautiful purple of a fresh bruise. Doyoung closes his eyes, humming out another moan, debating the merits of grabbing a fistful of Yuta’s hair.

He’s distracted before he can come to a decision—Yuta has closed down on one of his nipples, swirling his tongue around it and then biting lightly, just enough that pain shoots out, electrifying and numbing. He brings a hand up to the nipple that he’s neglected, flicking his finger back and forth. Doyoung convulses under him, shuddering as his cock twitches again and again in his pants.

“Feels so good,” he breathes out. “Please don’t stop.”

Yuta pulls off to speak, but replaces his mouth with his hand to placate him. “You’re so sensitive,” he teases. “Bet you’d look pretty with these pierced. Bet you’d feel good, too.” 

Doyoung balks a little, even though he has been toying with the idea. “Not as pretty as you,” he argues. “Please, can I see you?”

Yuta smiles indulgently, releasing him so he can tug his tank top over his head. He discards it and after a brief moment admiring the artwork on Yuta’s skin, Doyoung zeroes in on the straight silver barbells. They’re simple today—understated blue gems shine on either end—but most days, Yuta’s wearing at least a circular barbell, though it’s usually a straight one with flashy jewelry attached. He’s got a pretty red gem on his belly button piercing. He looks regal. Doyoung reaches a hand out, but recoils almost immediately when Yuta gives him a warning look.

“It hasn’t been that long, has it?” he asks, voice lilting. “Where are your manners, Doie?”

“May I touch you, please?” Doyoung asks immediately, words spilling out of his lips the instant Yuta is finished speaking. “Please, you look so good.”

Yuta smiles. “Points for flattery.” He steps closer. “Yes, you may.”

Doyoung presses his palm flat against Yuta’s sturdy chest, running a thumb over one of his nipples, flattening his lips into a line when it catches on the barbell and Yuta drops his head back with a happy hiss of pleasure. Encouraged, Doyoung leans forward and presses a row of kisses across Yuta’s stomach, over the soft lines of his abs. Yuta groans softly above him, and Doyoung knows it’ll get him in trouble, but he pinches the sensitive skin around one of Yuta’s nipple piercings, twisting a little just to hear him scream.

But Yuta doesn’t scream; he growls, ripping Doyoung’s hand away easily; his grip loosens as soon as he feels Yuta’s fingers encircle his wrist. The next point of contact is a backhanded slap across Doyoung’s cheek, knuckle against bone. The force of it whips Doyoung’s head to the side, and he whimpers, brain fuzzy with desire. 

“That wasn’t very nice, was it?” Yuta asks. “I said you could touch. I never said you could hurt me.”

“Thought you liked pain,” Doyoung mutters, earning himself another hard slap. The sound of the impact rings through the small room, sharp and almost shrill. “ _Fuck_ , yes,” he forces out through gritted teeth. 

“Only when I ask for it,” Yuta corrects, tone steely. “Which is exactly what you’re doing right now, isn’t it?” He brings a hand up to Doyoung’s head and tugs on his hair, forcing him to look at him. “Isn’t it?” Doyoung just gives him a sort of half-there smile. “Take all this off,” Yuta says, releasing him and gesturing to his clothes. “And lean the chair back and scoot down.”

Doyoung does as he’s told, wriggling out of his jeans and underwear, kicking his shoes and socks off in the process. He drops his button-down on top of the heap of clothing, and then reclines the chair a bit so he can lie back.

“Two hits, that’s all you’ll give me?” Doyoung asks when he’s settled.

Yuta kicks his own pants aside and pinches Doyoung’s inner thigh, hard. “Don’t be a brat,” he says. “We’re just getting started, aren’t we?” He plucks up the bottle of lube he’d set on a table nearby. “Hands above your head,” he says. “You’ve lost your chance to use them.”

Doyoung obeys, watching cautiously as Yuta slicks up his fingers. He grabs one of Doyoung’s legs and holds it to the side, pulling him down in the chair a little further. He presses his first finger in, still careful even in his anger, and Doyoung does his best to fight the adrenaline that’s lit his body on fire, and relaxes.

“Since you’re proven yourself to be a dumb slut,” Yuta says calmly, “who thinks with his cock instead of his brain, that’s how I’ll treat you. You can come whenever you like, but in order to earn to right to having your cock touched, you have to come untouched first, and then beg me for more.” He adds a second finger, raising his head to make eye contact. “Think you can manage it?”

“Yes,” Doyoung grits out, nodding.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.” Doyoung sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, letting out a soft sigh when Yuta dips his head to kiss over the spot he pinched a few minutes before.

“Good.” Yuta goes back to opening him up, harder and faster now that Doyoung’s no longer so tight. “You look pretty when you behave.”

Doyoung wants to contest that, but Yuta’s fingers find his prostate and the words die in his throat, instantly forgotten. “Fuck,” he mumbles when Yuta does it again. “Please, sir.”

“Begging already? I haven’t even started fucking you yet.” Yuta is still maddeningly calm. “Needy.”

Doyoung just whines softly, content with letting Yuta scare him into submission for the time being. Yuta adds a third finger, stretching him and stroking over his prostate a few more times to help ease the burn. Eventually, he deems him ready. Yuta stands and reaches for the condom. Doyoung watches him prep himself lazily. He wants so badly to reach down and stroke his aching cock, but Yuta said he couldn’t, so he wants to at least try to be good for a little while longer.

Yuta presses Doyoung’s legs back so that his bent knees are nearing his jaw. “Hold them here for me,” Yuta says. “Since you don’t need your hands for anything else, anyway.”

Doyoung holds his legs up, feeling exposed, but it’s assuaged almost immediately as Yuta lines himself up to his hole and presses in.

When they first fucked, Yuta had used four fingers to prep him. Technically, it is necessary—Yuta’s not small—but Doyoung told him he liked feeling stuffed full by his cock, even if it hurt at first, and even if the glide wasn’t easy. So Yuta has used three fingers ever since, and Doyoung has always been grateful for it. Tonight is no different; Doyoung whines and moans as Yuta takes his time bottoming out. The hurt noises get trapped in the hollow of his throat when he forgets to breathe.

“Good?” Yuta confirms, brushing some of Doyoung’s hair back from his forehead. “You _sound_ good.”

“Mm, yeah,” Doyoung breathes out, nodding. “Please move, sir, just go slow.”

Yuta obliges, rolling his hips slow and measured to allow Doyoung to adjust. This angle makes it impossible for Yuta not to be hitting his prostate, and Doyoung feels strung out already, even though they’ve barely done anything. Yuta bends him a little further, planting one hand on the chair next to Doyoung’s head to anchor himself. Doyoung looks up at him, mesmerized. He’s beautiful all the time, but like this he’s stunning. His pretty red hair falls into his face, framing his sharp bone structure; his piercings glitter even in the shadow of his own body; his muscles move under his tattoos, bringing them to life. He looks dangerous, and Doyoung eats it up.

He realizes Yuta’s gradually picked up the pace; Doyoung’s jostled a little against the chair. The head of Yuta’s cock catches on his rim with every thrust in, and the shock of pain followed by pleasure has Doyoung hiccuping out moans. But even so, it’s not enough. He wants more, and he only knows one way to get it.

He releases one of his legs as sneakily as he can, and reaches down to wrap his hand around his cock instead. He barely makes contact before Yuta is batting his hand away. He closes a hand around Doyoung’s throat, squeezing on either side of his trachea, pinning him to the chair and making his head swim.

“Did you forget already?” he asks. “Or are you just determined to disobey me?” Doyoung doesn’t answer, and Yuta raises his other hand to strike him, not as hard as before, but a few short hits against the hollow of his cheekbone in rapid succession. 

“More,” Doyoung rasps out, and Yuta rolls his eyes.

“Why didn’t you just trust me? I always give you what you want.” He releases Doyoung’s throat, leaving him gasping for air. He doesn’t have much time to catch his breath before Yuta’s bringing his hand down on his cheek again, real strength behind the hit. It stings so good, and Doyoung moans through his panting. “That’s for disobeying,” Yuta says, and then hits him again and adds, “That’s for being impatient.” He hits him one last time, on the other cheek, backhanded and full-force, just the way Doyoung likes it. “That’s for being a greedy brat.”

“Sorry, sir,” Doyoung slurs, eyes closed. He’s so hard it hurts; his hips buck up of their own accord with every thrust. “Oh _god,_ I’m close, please.”

“You don’t need my permission,” Yuta says coldly, resuming a faster pace. “You just have to come from my cock alone.”

“‘M gonna—sir, ‘m gonna come—” Doyoung barely has the wherewithal to warn him before he’s coming hard between them, strings of it shooting up his stomach and his chest. His cock twitches weakly as he comes down, but Yuta doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, just watches him almost impassively as he writhes beneath him, the force of his movements suddenly too much, almost painful.

“Does it hurt?” Yuta asks mockingly, laughing when Doyoung nods. “I thought you liked pain,” he mimics, repeating what Doyoung had said to him earlier that evening. 

Doyoung just groans, jutting his jaw out and tries to focus on his own breath. He knows Yuta will stop if he just says the word, but he doesn’t want him to. Yuta’s right. He likes the pain. He’s content knowing he’ll be sore in the morning; he can feel his cheekbone stinging, and he kind of hopes Yuta broke skin. 

Yuta continues to fuck him into the chair, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead as he fights to keep a hard and steady pace. “Yuta,” Doyoung says after a minute or two, once his breathing has slowed back down. “Please, can I touch you?”

“Only if you behave.” It’s said with a glare, and Doyoung nods in earnest. He’s too tired to be a little piece of shit anymore. Besides, he wants Yuta to feel good. He reaches his hands up, running them up and down Yuta’s waist, tracing the lines of his tattoos. He brings his hands back up to Yuta’s chest, running his thumbs back and forth over his nipples, gentle this time, pleased when Yuta releases a shaky breath. “So you _do_ know how to play by the rules,” he says.

“I just need a refresher sometimes,” Doyoung replies, somewhat smug.

Yuta rolls his eyes, giving him a particularly hard thrust in lieu of a verbal response. Doyoung’s eyes roll back in his head and his hands slip from Yuta’s chest. His stupid cock is already hard again, even though it hasn’t been touched. He feels raw and exhausted, but still his need is commanding, and he whimpers helplessly.

Yuta’s catching on. “I can’t give you anything unless you ask,” he reminds him.

“Please,” Doyoung gasps out. “Please, will you touch me? I wanna come again, wanna come for you, please.”

Yuta cocks his head, miming thoughtfulness. “I don’t know, two is kind of greedy, right? And you’ve been almost nothing but a problem this whole time. Not sure you deserve it.”

“Please, sir,” Doyoung begs, “I was good at the end, ‘m sorry. Need your hand on me to come; need to come so bad.”

“I guess since you sound so nice when you beg,” Yuta concedes, though his voice is unsteady. He reaches between them and wraps a hand around Doyoung’s cock, giving it a few harsh tugs.

It’s almost too much; Doyoung squeezes his eyes shut with a shout. He can feel it everywhere, overwhelming pleasure scattering across his skin. “Yuta,” he murmurs.

Yuta bends over him, teeth grazing his neck as he presses sloppy kisses to his skin. He bites down on the skin that connects his collarbone to his throat, nosing at his neck as he grinds into him, deep and dirty. 

“Gonna make me come, baby,” Yuta says against his skin, and Doyoung just moans in response, one hand finding Yuta’s hair, holding him close. He feels Yuta go still inside him, cock twitching as he comes. Yuta keeps jerking Doyoung off as he comes down, rewarding him with a constellation of tiny hickeys at the base of his neck. Doyoung’s glad for his fondness of turtlenecks, almost giggling in his punchiness. 

The giggles turn to harsh gasps as his orgasm builds in his stomach. His grip on Yuta’s hair tightens, but Yuta doesn’t complain, just keeps jerking him off, palm slick with Doyoung’s precome, until Doyoung’s spilling over his fist with a soft cry.

Doyoung does laugh once he’s come back to himself, and Yuta straightens, giving him a slightly worried look. “Oh, your cheek,” he says, sounding only kind of regretful. “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Doyoung grins at him. “I was asking for it.”

“Yeah, you certainly were.” Yuta stands, pulling out and going to discard the used condom, returning with a couple of damp paper towels. “I’ll clean it, though. It’s just a little cut, but I don’t want to take any risks.”

Doyoung lets Yuta take his time cleaning him up, smiling at his efficiency and thoroughness. Once Yuta is satisfied, Doyoung goes to collect his clothes and they get dressed, chatting a little bit. Doyoung buttons his shirt gingerly, taking care not to bend his arm too far for fear of disturbing his new tattoo.

“Doesn’t hurt too much, does it?” Yuta hovers his hand over Doyoung’s arm. 

“No,” Doyoung replies with a soft smile. “More itchy, now.” He blinks up at Yuta. “You know, maybe next time, I’ll come in for a piercing.”

“Oh yeah?” Yuta says, arching an eyebrow as he leads him out to the front desk. “Where? Wanna do your nipples? I’ll give you a special discount; I’ll do the second one for free.”

“Uh, _no_ , I was thinking maybe my cartilage,” Doyoung says, rolling his eyes and touching the tip of one of his ears. “Got a similar discount?”

Yuta flips open their appointment book, grinning mischievously up at Doyoung through his bangs. “How about I pierce your cartilage, and then take you out to dinner?” he suggests, pen poised.

Doyoung stares, slightly slack-jawed. “Is this—Are you—Did you just ask me out?” he asks.

Infuriatingly, Yuta’s expression doesn’t change. He just gazes back placidly. “Yes.”

“What about your—your list?” Doyoung asks, nodding to the appointment book.

“I’ll tell them I’m no longer available,” Yuta replies. “I don’t mind.”

Doyoung feels as though he’s lost his footing, but he doesn’t quiet mind. “Um—okay,” he says. “I’m free next Friday?”

Yuta flips through the pages until he finds the day and marks something down before looking up and fixing Doyoung with a charming smile. “Okay,” he says. “It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! to the anon who requested this, I hope this is what you were looking for!
> 
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